Notes
by ArianaRae
Summary: Various HP-verse drabbles, all very short, all set to music. 200-500 words.
1. Chapter 1

First drabble, here we go...

Song: Pocketful of Sunshine by Natasha Bedingfield

Edit (7/4/11): Wow... I listened to crappy music then. Oh well.

* * *

Cold. So cold. It was all she thought about, all she knew he despaired about; his fever wasn't any better for the gloomy conditions. He never spoke it, never complained of it as if avoiding the topic entirely would fool the teenage girl with the unusually wide eyes and scraggly waist-length hair, but she knew. The Wrackspurt Luna Lovegood had dubbed Alishaen had told her so. He had become her closest friend in the weeks she had spent in the dungeon. Of course, Ollivander thought her mad, but then, so did most of Hogwarts.

What she wasn't sure about was if he thought her mad for Alishaen or for the trances. She often went into them, intentionally most of the time, but every once in a while, after a session with the Malfoys, she slipped away. Ollivander normally revived her, looking paler than usual and babbling on about how she had been humming and talking to herself, mumbling in a foreign language.

Luna was a lot sharper than most took her for. She knew that if she told him what she saw in her trance state, he would cart her off to the loony bin as soon as they were released from here. So she kept the utopia to herself. The gentle breeze blowing, scars and bruises fading as she sometimes sat in the sun, sometimes flew through the sky, though always with her mother, carefree and lighthearted as she had been in life.

The blonde girl could always hear a river flowing in the distance. It calmed her, allowing her to forget her worries and bask in the warmth provided by her sunny oasis. And sunny it was, never fading into the darkness that dwelled always in the dungeon. Luna hated the dark and the cold. The summer saved her.

And so when she was rescued, let out to see the Earth for the first time in who knows when, she was ecstatic. She rushed out, running into her salvation, savoring the feeling.

_The summer's on my side,_

_I take it for a ride._

_I smile into the sky,_

_And know I'll be alright._

_The summer's on my side,_

_I take it for a ride._

_I smile into the sky,_

_And know I'll be alright…_


	2. Chapter 2

Ash-coated and tired, ex-Minister Cornelius Fudge stepped out of the fireplace into his office. The flames gave a final roar and then dissipiated. He had gotten so far as to call his assistant for a cup of tea when he remembered that she no longer worked for him.

No, Mariette was far more likely to have signed up to grovel at Scrimgeour's feet, like everyone else at the Ministry, no doubt.

Fudge sighed and put his head in his hands. He was viewed as an outcast, known as the moron who had let You-Know-Who return. He had been allowed to stay on, of course. Keeping him would make the Ministry seem generous in the ever-revered public eye.

But as a messenger. A messenger. Even the intern at the help desk was respected more than the Minister's messenger, for Merlin's sake!

Fudge got up, wincing as his stiff joints popped, and limped over to the teapot.

Probably cold by now, he thought. Have to make my own bloody tea.

Fudge slowly drew his wand, twirling it in his fingers. How had it come to this? From running the world's most prestigious magical government, to running back and forth, giving notes and being treated like a common elf.

Even more unbearable was Dumbledore. Old fool.

He was never told anything of importance, yet the man expected him to trust and follow blindly. So presumptuous.

Well, for whatever he wasn't, Cornelius Fudge was a proud man. And he resented being painted the village idiot.

Such a long way to fall.

_I used to rule the world,_  
_Seas would rise when I gave the word._  
_Now in the mornings I sleep alone,_  
_Sweep the streets I used to own._

_But that was when I ruled the world._


	3. Chapter 3

Yes, you'll probably recognize this as Wandering Thoughts, Firm Hearts. That's because it's basically the same thing. I added or scrapped a word here and there, changed some tenses, and (oh the shame) had to add in some semicolons in cases where I was severely and heartlessly abusing my poor comma key. Oh, and I set it to a song now, which it still only somewhat fits. But whatever. It's a drabble from a year and a half ago I scribbled down in the middle of a particularly boring lesson on 7th grade biology. How do I remember that? I have absolutely no idea. I shouldn't be putting this much thought into it anyway... Well, it's midnight and I should be logging off. Until then, my dears.

Song: Unstoppable by Rascal Flatts

* * *

I toss and turn. Surely it should be morning by now. I turn and give the clock a quick look. Two AM. I flop onto my back and huff. Ripoff.

But do I really want to go back to sleep? It's not like he'll come back, safe and never going to leave again, just because I have a reoccuring dream that he won't.

Oh, he'll come back. I know that much. And he'll come back alive, and for the most part, physically well.

But physically is the key word. Harry's been through more than the most seasoned Aurors have in their entire careers. I worry about his mental condition. Because if I don't, if I judge him on his outward appearance like it seems everyone outside of my family and Hermione do, then he'll fall right through the cracks without so much as a second thought for himself.

He's been taught that, I know.

By the wretched Dursleys. And what people see as values, I know are insecurities.

He's not selfless; he's worthless.

He's not extraordinary; he's a freak.

He doesn't have a reason to live; he has a reason to die.

And that's only what Ron and Hermione and I see. The tip of the iceberg. Who knew what else Harry kept hidden?

He blames himself, you know. For everything. Cedric, Sirius, Moody, Dumbledore, his parents; everyone who's died in this war.

For the bloody war itself. Harry reckons that if he'd never been born, all this would never have happened.

What he fails to understand is that it would have, but it would have been so much worse. He wouldn't be here to help us through. Because that's what he does.

Hermione, Ron, the twins, my parents, everyone... They're wonderful, but they aren't my noble-to-the-point-of-idiocy boyfriend. I love them all to pieces, but they aren't Harry.

Harry, who puts the needs of others, even those who tormented him daily, before his own.

Harry, who broke up with me because our relationship put me in danger, even though I already was.

Harry, who, with all his heart, deeply mistrusts authority, who has years of neglect and probable abuse as the reason why.

Harry, whom I love with all my heart.

Harry, whom I desperately hope returns those feelings.

_Love is unstoppable _

_Like a river keeps on rolling _

_Like the north wind blowing _

_Don't it feel good knowing _

_Yeah_


	4. Chapter 4

Ugh. This didn't turn out at all like I had hoped. That is, as a decent drabble. Well… it's set in early PS because that was the only time at Hogwarts where Harry wasn't really friends with everyone. And the fact that he's actually insanely famous is just setting in. Yeah. Well. Here you go, enjoy.

Song: By Myself by Linkin Park

* * *

Being famous was by no means all good.

In fact, Harry Potter decided, he would much rather be invisible.

Being famous meant having endless "number one fans" that really didn't know the first thing about him. It meant having a public eye following him wherever he went; analyzing and critiquing his every move. But most of all, being famous meant that behind the crowds and stares and pictures and hand-shaking, he was alone.

How was he supposed to know whether that pretty third year Ravenclaw winking at him from across the Great Hall was interested in Harry Potter, first year Gryffindor without a clue what he was doing, or in _Harry Potter_, savior of the wizarding world?

Draco Malfoy had seemed eager enough to befriend him before he realized that Harry Potter, celebrity and son of a witch and wizard, associated with blood traitors. After that, nothing could redeem him to the Slytherin.

Not that he cared, of course. Harry had had just about enough of bullies like Draco in the past ten years. One Dudley was enough, thank you very much.

Even Ron and Hermione, who seemed nice enough, could very well be the same. After all, Ron had gawked quite openly at his scar on the train, and Hermione, though clearly not concerned with his celebrity status, was obviously interested in anything pertaining to magical history, and apparently (_"You're mentioned in several books, you know."_) he fit that description.

It didn't matter though. He had survived since before he could remember without any real friends; seven more years was doable.

The only problem was that he was an 11 year old boy, and he really only ever wanted to fit in.

To be _normal_.

Harry sighed and closed his eyes. Like that was ever going to happen.

_Don't you know?_

_I can't tell you how to make it go._

_No matter what I do, _

_How hard I try,_

_I can't seem to convince myself why_

_I'm stuck on the outside._


End file.
